


Let Me Love It Out Of You

by authoresskika



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fights, Lemon, Makeup, Makeup Sex, Married Life, Squabbling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:13:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoresskika/pseuds/authoresskika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a few years of marriage, a hot-headed squabble is practically nothing to Katniss and Peeta. This one, however, stretches on a bit too long, and a bit too far - and they're both tired of it. </p><p>Banner by the lovely Ro Nordmann</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Love It Out Of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anonalece](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonalece/gifts).



 

**< <Are you almost done yet?**

 

**> >With the projects I had for the day? Yes. But I’m not closing down for another 2 hours. You know that.**

 

**< <Yeah, but… I hoped you might come home early, that’s all…**

 

It’s really, really difficult to say no to the prospect of going home to Katniss early, particularly when there’s a solid chance she’ll leap into my arms and make me take her to bed—if we even make it that far. Trying to make a baby is tough work.

 

**> >I can try. But you know this Marvel kid is a moron. It might take me just as long to count out his drawer even if I close shop now.**

 

**< <Try.**

 

**> >Yes, ma’am.**

 

The jingle of the door up front drowns out the next incoming message from my wife, as does Finnick’s jovial voice as he calls out my name. I pocket my phone (which is angrily flashing a dying battery alert at me) to head up to greet my friend and release Marvel from his closing duties. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear he isn’t responsible for stacking chairs or taking out the trash for a change…

 

That is, if he happens to still be up front where I left him ten minutes ago. Which he most certainly is _not_.

 

“Hey there, Finn… And hello to you too, Ez,” I say to my godson from his place on Finn’s hip. Six is probably too old for a spot like that, but Ezra got his diminutive height from Annie, so he doesn’t look much older than about four. And that’s even with him turning seven the day after tomorrow.

 

“Hiiii Uncle Peeta. Daddy says we’re gettin’ my cake today!” Ezra tells me proudly, an impish grin on his face. As much as Annie chides me for it, when Ez is in my bakery he always ends up with at least one cookie in each hand at all times.

 

“Well, your daddy is looking at your cake, but Auntie Katniss and I are gonna bring it to your party tomorrow instead, so that way it stays a surprise,” I tell him, plucking a gingersnap and an apple spice cookie from my display case to hand to him. It’s almost enough to keep the impressive pout from spreading across his face.

 

“‘S’not fairrrr,” he whines, even as he shoves the gingersnap into his maw.

 

Finnick tuts at him and steps around the counter and places him near my makeshift, iPad cash register. “You’ll thank Uncle Peeta when you see it tomorrow, Squid-o. Sit here and man things up front for a second while we talk in the kitchen, okay?”

 

“I guess,” Ezra huffs. I ruffle his hair, reach past him to plug my phone into the charger station, and punch in the code to unlock my screen before nudging the device towards him.

 

“See if you can beat my Birds score before Marvel comes back from the bathroom, huh?” I tell him before ducking back to the kitchen with Finnick at my heels.

 

“That college twerp’s actually working out for a change, eh?”

 

“Well, he still hasn’t no-called/no-showed on me since I hired him, so he’s better than the kid before him, that’s for sure,” I say over my shoulder as I head into the walk-in to pull Ezra’s two-tiered birthday cake off one of the shelves.

 

“Hey, that’s a step in the right direction. It’s almost like you’re a proper business man these da—oh man, Peeta. That’s spectacular.”

 

“I figured it’d make Annie happy enough that she might not spend Ez’s entire party this year sobbing into her slice about how big he’s getting. You recognize the design, I imagine?”

 

“It’s perfect, Peet. It looks just like the wedding cake—except I don’t remember Aquaman swimming along the bottom all those years ago…”

 

“Yeah, well, it is still the cake for a seven-year-old. I hope he likes it,” I tell him as I delicately re-cover it to keep the fondant from drying out.

 

“He’ll love it. Annie’ll love it. Thanks, man,” he says.

 

“No sweat,” I tell him, stretching my forearms gently as I survey my kitchen. My dishes are all done with the exception of what’s in the dishwasher, so other than front-of-house, closing should be a snap. I jerk my thumb towards the front. “Here, pick out a couple of loaves or something to take home before I relegate the rest to the food kitchen donation, eh?”

 

“Peeta Mellark, baker boy, saint, best godfather ever. Have we added ‘father-to-be’ to that list yet?”

 

I beam proudly, even as my cheeks flush. I wasn’t supposed to tell Finnick or any of our friends that Katniss and I are trying, but ever since our roommate days in college, there isn’t much information Finnick Odair hasn’t been able to successfully pump out of me. He’s been good about not blabbing to Katniss, at least.

 

“Not sure yet. You’ll know when I know, though,” I promise.

 

We head to the front, where I expect to find Ezra happily chatting Marvel's ear off while the older boy rolls his eyes and begs us to rescue him—instead, all I see is Ezra looking wide eyed at my phone, his cheeks caked in cookie crumbs.

 

"Ummmm... Uncle Peeta, your phone did this weird thing..." Ezra says, guilt heavy in his voice.

 

"Ezra! What did you do?" Finnick demands, but I shrug him off.

 

"Don't worry, I'm sure it's nothing that can't be fixed. Will you go check the bathroom for Marvel? He's helping himself to an awfully long break." He nods to me as I peek over my godson's shoulder at my phone. Everything seems to be in place, best I can tell, but when I pull up my text message window, I find it disturbingly empty.

 

"Aha. Looks like you cleared out my messages, kiddo," I say simply, as his eyes get wider and wider.

 

"Uh oh. I'm sorry, Uncle Peeta..."

 

"It's okay, buddy. Just be careful and stick to the game when I let you play with this, alright?"

 

"Okay. It's just you got somethin' from Auntie—"

 

"Uh, Peet? You sure you didn't let that kid go home early?"

 

I blink at Finn, and like a punch in the gut, I already know this is going to end up being a bad day.

 

"No... But I'm gathering he's gone, right?"

 

"Yep."

 

On a hunch, I punch my manager code into the iPad to open the register and scan inside. I'm usually good about not swearing in front of Ezra, but when I note that every single slot of the drawer is empty, save for the pennies, nickels, and dimes, I can't stop the long string of expletives that tumble off my tongue.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Finnick makes my food kitchen run for me as I file my police report. I don't plan on actually pressing charges on the kid, but damn certain do I want my money back, and I want to scare the living hell out of him to straighten him out a little. It takes a while after to go through the motions of closing everything down on my own, and by the time I'm leaving for home, I realize quite contritely that I never let Katniss know why I’m running as late as I am.

 

**> >Long story, honey, I'm sorry. I'm going to pick us up some dinner and be home ASAP.**

 

She doesn't text back, which I find sort of odd. We hadn’t planned anything for dinner, and the last thing I feel like doing when I get home is cooking, so I grab us a double to-go order of sushi and a extra large bottle of wine to go with it. I’m juggling everything as I walk through the door, barely managing to not drop one or both. As tired as I am, I half-hope I’m wrong about her planning to pounce me the second I walk in.

 

And I am—which is maybe more disconcerting than her not returning my text message.

 

I call out to her and hear nothing in return.

 

I set down the food and crack into the wine. Still nothing. And Katniss knows the sound of the sushi containers and the scent of pickled ginger anywhere. This is getting weird.

 

“Katniss, are you ho—oh. Hi, honey.”

 

She’s sitting in one of the straight-back chairs in the living room, her legs curled underneath her with a book in her lap. She barely looks up at me. “Hi.”

 

“Didn’t you hear me calling out to you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“…And you just…”

 

“I’m _reading_ , Peeta.”

 

Apparently not texting her about the situation pissed her off more than I expected it to.

 

“I’m sorry I’m so late, but I brought dinner. And wine. Want a glass?”

 

She slams the book closed and tosses it on the table nearby before crossing her arms over her chest. “No. What’s for dinner?”

 

“Sushi. I got a Banana Boat and a Bob Marley roll for you.”

 

She scowls at me. I’m familiar with her scowl—I saw it often when we were growing up, well before I ever had the sac to actually talk to her for the first time.

 

“ _Perfect_ ,” she mutters before getting up and storming to the staircase, brushing past without even offering me a peck on the cheek. I clearly pissed her off something royal.

 

“Katniss, I said I’m sorry I was late! I didn’t just _not_ come home to make you angry with me.”

 

“You never _don’t_ text back, Peeta,” she says, gripping the handrail on the stairs until her knuckles go white. “ _Especially_ not when it’s _important_.”

 

“It was important!”

 

“Yeah, so important it took you two hours past normal closing to get home.” She rolls her eyes before turning back up the stairs, and ascends them with stamping feet.

 

I can’t help myself—I just snap. She’s never this nasty to me. And after the day I’ve had, I just can’t take her being in a shitty mood without projecting it right back on her. It’s petty and childish, sure, and I know better, but I can’t stop it.

 

“Look, Katniss, it was a shit day, alright? I certainly would have prefered coming home to fuck you senseless, but I had bigger goddamn fish to fry, alright?”

 

Okay, so I probably shouldn’t have gone that far. The look she gives me pins me in place, and I bet if she could set me on fire with her eyes, she would. Her hair whips over her shoulder in a flash, and her feet barely seem to touch the stairs as she flies up them. Our bedroom door slams loudly behind her, and I groan. That was most definitely a dick move.

 

She barely misses my head a minute later when she throws my pillow and a blanket from our bed down the stairs at me. I take a minute to make up the sofa that’s apparently my bed tonight before pouring myself a generous glass of wine. I prop my feet up on the coffee table as I knock it back and try to let it wash away my day.  

 

Instead, it pretty much just makes me feel all the more like an asshole.

 

* * *

 

 

The car ride between my bakery and Finnick and Annie’s house is icy, despite us sort of apologizing over breakfast. She’d pointedly refused a cup of the coffee I brewed with a special mix of dried spices (cinnamon, cloves, ginger, all her favorites) and picked at the toast and eggs I’d made before pushing the plate aside and claiming she needed to get ready for the day and finish wrapping Ezra’s present. I scraped her leftovers into the cat’s dish and gulped down her coffee myself, letting the caffeine push away a little bit of the red wine hangover-headache I’d woken up with after a fitful night on the couch.

 

We’re all smiles when we arrive, though, because this day isn’t about me losing my temper or her giving me the cold shoulder—this day is about our godson, and he’s annoyingly good at picking up on when the grownups in his life are testy. Katniss distracts him so Annie and I can set up the cake in the kitchen with a paper bag, covering it to keep it away from curious eyes wondering where the pinata and other games are. Just like Finnick said it would, the white-crested waves and golden fishnets I’d piped onto the cake remind Annie just enough of their wedding cake to get her to tear up and kiss my cheek in gratitude, although the Aquaman rendering on the bottom makes her laugh.

 

“He’ll go ape, Peeta,” she says.

 

“I’m glad you think so,” I tell her with a smile.

 

There are tons of snacks and cups of fruit punch that need to be put out now that the party is in full swing, so I help Annie get them together while Katniss and Finnick watch the kids, along with a couple of other parents that tagged along. Finnick decides they’re playing musical chairs at one point, and blasts a Disney soundtrack through the house as the children squeal with excitement at not being the last one standing. The music is loud enough I don’t hear my phone go off—twice—until I also hear Ezra complaining loudly that the birthday boy should get a reprieve from being kicked out of the game. I excuse myself with Annie and step out onto the front porch to return the call from the strange number, my gut telling me it has something to do with Marvel and the bakery.

 

Forty-five minutes later, I’m still on the phone, having been shuffled around and put on hold three times with three different police officers. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I tell them it’s bad timing, and that I’d rather come down to the precinct to deal with this in person first thing Monday morning, they keep stalling. My headache from that morning has still not entirely abated, and I’m getting more and more frustrated by the second. I hold my breath when Katniss steps out the front door, her hands on her hips and that familiar high-school scowl plastered on her face.

 

“Are you _planning_ on coming back inside to help, because Annie hasn’t gotten to spend a minute of this party with her child, and she’s getting flustered,” she says harshly.

 

I sigh heavily and point to my phone. “I’m trying honey, really.”

 

“What the hell is more important than Ezra today? We’ve been helping them plan this party for months, Peeta.”

 

I can feel my temper rising again, but I push it down. I’m not sleeping on the couch again tonight.

 

“Will you please just give me ten more minutes, and then I’ll actually explain what happened—yes, sorry, hi. Yes, this is Mr. Mellark, I was just telling the officer I spoke to before…no, I really _can’t_ hold for anyone else. Can I just talk to you now…”

 

Katniss glares at me before storming back inside.

 

I’m definitely sleeping on the couch again tonight.

 

* * *

 

 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me we were _robbed_ ,” Katniss seethes as we’re helping with the dishes. I catch Finnick and Annie looking between one another uncomfortably, and I feel bad that Katniss and I are having it out in front of them. I’d have preferred to wait until she and I got home, but Finnick had opened his mouth about yesterday when Katniss stormed back in while I was on the phone in an attempt to smooth things over between us. I’m gathering now he wished he’d just kept quiet.

 

“I tried, but you snapped and stormed upstairs. I know better than to try to talk to you when you’re in a snit, Katniss.”

 

“I needed to know that! This isn’t just your business, this is _our_ business! You really think my salary will keep us afloat if the bakery goes belly up!?”

 

“We’re not going belly up! It was less than $600, and insurance will cover it if I don’t get it back from the little twerp. Which it sounds like his parents are trying to arrange so that I don’t take him to court. This is not the detrimental situation you imagine it to be, honey, really. It’s just preoccupying right now, that’s all. On top of this, I’m gonna be all on my own there until I can hire someone else…”

 

“You are not hiring anyone else without my help. You have too much damn faith in people, Peeta, and it’s now bitten us in the ass three times.”

 

I groan and look to Finnick for help. He holds up his hands defensively.

 

“Hey man, we love you both, but the first rule of marriage is never get involved in another couple’s argument.”

 

I grimace contritely. “You’re right, I’m sorry, guys. Honey, we’ll finish this when we get home, okay?”

 

Katniss scowls, but nods anyway, and mutters her own apology to our friends. The air is thick and awkward as we pack the last few slices of cake into little Tupperware containers and gather up the last of the trash. Every so often, I catch her looking at me, almost like she’s feeling betrayed or something. She’s definitely disappointed with me, I can tell that much.

 

I think I’d rather have her flat-out angry than disappointed.

 

* * *

 

 

I agree to let Katniss put out the Craigslist ad for new counter help with her phone number so that she can take care of the interviews on her own. In the meantime, though, I’m going to be alone there all day long, so I have to get up even earlier than my normal baker’s hours in order to get everything prepped and ready before I open the storefront at 6:30. I find myself wishing that one of my brothers still lived nearby to help out, or my parents hadn’t retired to Florida and left me in charge of this whole place all by myself. I debate just closing for a couple of days, but I know we can’t afford to take that sort of financial loss. The coffee machine and I become the best of friends until my hands shake from too much caffeine. Frankly, I’m amazed I don’t scare off the customers.

 

Finnick and Annie stop in and help where they can, after they finish with their own day jobs, but there isn’t much they can do other than take out the trash or make the food bank run with the stuff that didn’t sell at the day-old discount. I know I’m getting lax at doing tasks, like writing things off when they have to be tossed, and making sure the water temperature in the sinks is OSHA-standard, but I barely have time to think, let alone actually care. I’m not up for an inspection for months anyway, and I have never not passed with flying colors. I press down the little voice niggling me that there’s a first time for everything, though, and keep going about the motions, because that’s all I can do.

 

I find myself wishing I hadn’t let Katniss do the interviews, because if I’d done it, I’d already have found decent temporary counter help and wouldn’t be running on fumes. By the time I get home, I’m so exhausted I barely have time to stagger up to our bedroom before I conk out, so I barely speak with her at all. Every so often, I wake up as she’s coming to bed, or I stir in the middle of the night before my alarm goes off, and feel her next to me, sleeping stiffly on the far side, her back towards me. I can feel her slipping away from me, and as much as I want to bring her back, I’m just so tired. Instead, I remind myself this is a temporary state of being, and that soon as I have the help I need, I’ll be able to come home at a decent hour and not just go straight to sleep.

 

The first six days I’m at the bakery fly by. But I don’t even get my regular Sunday off, despite being closed, because there’s still too much to be done. And when the next week starts all over again, I get more and more frustrated. The only good thing that comes from my state of complete exhaustion is that I don’t have the time to do anything stupid like snap at her. So, at the very least, I’m not digging the hole any deeper.

 

But I still know she’s disappointed. And despite trying to make small talk with her here and there, or anything really to get me back in her good graces, she keeps giving me the cold shoulder. And eventually, I’m just too tired to do much more, even though it kills me.

 

* * *

 

 

Maybe it’s because I’m numb to it, but the second week seems less daunting. I tell Finnick and Annie not to worry about stopping by, because I’m actually getting everything done, and I feel slightly less like a zombie all the time. Katniss sends text messages every so often, telling me that she’s set up a couple of interviews for the end of the week, so there’s even hope of an end in sight. It’s still painful to not see her other than the brief few minutes between when I come home and fall asleep and when I try not to wake her when my alarm goes off, but we aren’t being quite so cold now, and that’s a start. If we can just get this figured out, we’ll be golden, I know.

 

It’s weird, though—there are things I don’t remember doing here and there, like wiping down the bathroom sink and changing the toilet paper. Or relegating what day-olds go into the food bank baskets and which just get thrown out and written off because they’re stale. One morning I even get in and find the ovens already pre-heating—not still on from the night before, like I’d forgotten to turn them off; they’re just warming up. I decide the lack of sleep is just making me loopy and forgetful, and I keep going through the motions, holding out until Friday afternoon when she has the first batch of interviews scheduled. I actually leap out of bed that morning, oddly energized. Katniss doesn’t stir, and I chance pecking her temple before heading out to my car.

 

It’s a slow morning, so I get the chance to vacuum out the display cases and remove the sliding windows to wipe them down with Windex. I keep an ear out for the jingling of the bells on the front door, but the anal-retentive part of my brain has taken over, and before I realize it, I’m pulling pictures down off the walls in order to dust off the tops of the frames. Needless to say, when I hear a massive crash in the kitchen, I nearly jump out of my skin.

 

My skin prickles as I head back there, hoping that I just left a baking sheet teetering on the edge of a shelf, as opposed to anything else. When I see long tendrils of black hair, I rear back for a moment, wondering why I don’t have an alarm button anywhere other than by the register, until I finally process that it’s Katniss lying on the floor.

 

“Honey?! What are you…”

 

She groans as she hoists herself up amongst the scattered metal mixing bowls and wire whisks that I can only assume she was trying to shelve and looks at me sheepishly. “I, um…I didn’t think you knew I was here.”

 

I rush forward to help her up the rest of the way and take note of how she grimaces when she’s on both of her feet again. “I had no idea you—have you been here long?”

 

“No, just a few minutes. I saw the dishwasher was done, so I thought I’d clean up a little back here for you before I…”

 

“Why aren’t you at work?”

 

“I, um…I called out. Well, not exactly, I’ve just been working remotely all week so I can…”

 

She’s always, always been good at moving silently. When we first lived together, she’d scare me out of my skin on a regular basis by sneaking into the room and putting her hands on my shoulders or winding them around my waist without me even realizing she was there. She’s better about doing that now, but her footsteps are still near-silent, even against the hard cement floors of the kitchen.

 

“Have…has it been _you_ all week doing the little chores I keep forgetting I’ve done?” I ask, finally putting everything together. I knew there was no way I’d preheated the oven before I’d even turned on all the lights the other morning. And she’s always known exactly which pastries I deem edible, even after two days, and which ones are lost causes.

 

She doesn't exactly look guilty until she realizes she's been found out. She shrugs. “You needed help and you weren’t going to ask for it, so…”

 

My palms cup her cheeks gently before I lean down to kiss her. This is why I married Katniss Everdeen. Even when she’s mad at me, she can set our issues aside to make sure the things that are important to the two of us keep running smoothly. And I can tell by the reluctant pliancy of her lips as mine slant over them that she still hasn’t quite forgiven me, but she’s also not pulling away, either.

 

She’s taking a step towards me when I feel her lips tighten again and a low grunt of pain reverberates in her throat. I pull away and survey her up and down, and finally notice the way she’s clearly favoring her right foot.

 

“Twisted your ankle?” I ask.

 

“And my tailbone isn’t happy with me either,” she says, gritting her teeth. Without another thought, I sweep her up into my arms, despite her wiggling objections, and hold her against my chest. She sighs as I step to the front and deadbolt the door, flipping over the “Closed” sign before switching off the lights, and head back for the door that leads out to the alley where my car’s parked.

 

“Peeta, I know what you’re thinking, but I don’t need to—”

 

“Too bad, my darling,” I tell her as I gently tuck her into the backseat so she doesn’t have to sit right on her rear, “you’re going anyway.”

 

* * *

 

 

There’s a surprisingly brief wait at ER before she’s seen. I have about forty forms to fill out with our insurance information before I’m allowed to go back and join her, although once I am, she’s being wheeled off to get an X-ray. I sit in the waiting room until a nurse tells me I can come back, and I sit perch on the edge of the bed next to her, running my thumb idly along her shoulder as she moves about in the bed, trying to get comfortable. It takes her a moment to adjust, with her limbs a little heavy from the low dose of morphine they gave her for her pain. She catches my hand with hers and smiles at me.

 

“I’m not really that mad at you, you know. Just a little…”

 

“I know it. And I’m sorry. I’ve been a dick these last few days, and there’s no excuse for that, no matter how stressed I am. And I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

 

“‘S’okay… But, um…why didn’t you text me back that morning? I sent you something and my phone said you read it, but you haven’t even…”

 

My brain clears a little, and a chuckle escapes my lips. “Ezra was playing with my phone and deleted my messages. I’m gonna guess he deleted that one.”

 

Her lips purse in a little ‘o’ of understanding, and she nods her head. “That’d explain…I didn’t think you’d…”

 

A nurse breezes in a minute or two later to check on us and asks me to get off her bed per hospital protocol. I make a face behind her back when she turns to make a note on her chart, and she tells us a doctor will be with us in just a moment to discuss her treatment. It seems excessive to me when I’m sure she’s just got a strain and a bruise, but I was the one who insisted on bringing her in. As soon as she closes the curtain again, I nudge Katniss to scoot over so I can lay in the bed next to her and let her rest on my chest. She curls up and the morphine pulls her under fast. I almost hope for her sake that the doctor makes us wait a while so we can both catch a little bit of sleep that we’ve both been sorely missing out on.

 

It can’t have been more than an hour after I let my own eyes close that a doctor is shaking my foot and asking me to stand up. I nudge Katniss awake and watch her stretch lazily, although her movements still seem a little clumsy.

 

“So, Ms. Everdeen, we just wanted to go over your blood panel with you and your husband real quick before we do anything else, considering the concern you had about the X-ray…”

 

Her face goes a little pale, and I reach for her hand to comfort her. I’m not exactly sure why she’s so clearly concerned, but before I can say anything to that effect, the doctor smiles at us widely.

 

“Turns out your hunch was right, though…we put a rush on your labs so we wouldn’t have to wait to let you know that you are indeed pregnant,” the doctor continues.

 

Wait… What the hell did I just hear?

 

“I…I am?” Katniss stammers, all vestiges of morphine apparently out of her system at the stunning news.

 

“You’re pregnant, Ms. Everdeen. Congratulations! Given the circumstances, we can’t prescribe any heavy pain relievers so we don’t put your baby in any danger, but we’ll still send you home with something mild. Neither the tail bone nor ankle bone are more than lightly bruised, so nothing needs to be done for those, other than keeping off them for a couple of weeks until they feel better. But it’s hospital policy when dealing with a fall and an expectant mother that we send someone from obstetrics to take a quick ultrasound, just to make sure everything is alright with your little one. So bear with us for a little bit longer, and we’ll have you on your way just as soon as we can!”

 

She leaves just as quickly as she came, and I turn to Katniss with my eyes wide and jaw hanging open. She’s gnawing on the corner of her mouth nervously and refusing to meet my gaze.

 

“I, um… That day I’d sent you a picture of a pregnancy test I was getting ready to take because I thought, you know, I might be... I just didn’t want to take it without you, and then after we fought, I didn’t want to take it at all because—well, you were preoccupied and stressed out, and I knew this would just be one more thing, because then we’d have to talk seriously about hiring even more people at the bakery so you could be home more…”

 

“Katniss…”

 

“…And then I was worried you’d be upset because naturally, my stupid uterus would get with the program right when you’re dealing with everything at the bakery. And then everything with Ezra’s birthday made me worried that you, I dunno, had changed your mind. Or, even worse, I was worried it would turn into another false positive that we’d get all excited about and then just be let down by…”

 

“Katniss, stop. Stop, honey, just stop.”

 

I sit on the bed next to her and cradle her face. Her grey eyes are glassy and wild, and the corner of her mouth is chewed pink by her front teeth. And yet she has never, ever, looked more gorgeous. I feel the corners of my mouth raise up to what feels like right underneath my eyes before I lean in and kiss her again and again.

 

“Honey, we’re having a baby… How could you not think that would thrill me?” I ask when we finally come back up for air.

 

She shrugs guiltily and shakes her head. “It’s dumb, I know. It just… It still scares me.”

 

“It’s _supposed_ to scare us. But Katniss, you’re pregnant. And I’ve wanted to say that sentence for years. I… I…”

 

I’m overwhelmed. I’m completely floored. And ecstatic isn’t near as strong enough of a word for how happy finally being able to say those words makes me.

 

I’m about to dissolve into a blubbering mess when a woman in bright-pink scrubs rolls an ultrasound machine in, and a few more minutes pass before the machine whirs to life and a fuzzy grey-scale picture of her uterus appears on the screen—and by then, blubbering moron doesn’t even begin to cover just what I  am.

 

* * *

 

 

“They wrapped my ankle, honey, I can walk through the damn door,” Katniss says, whacking my arm lightly as I hoist her out of the front seat and head into the house.

 

“Let me be gallant, woman, sheesh,” I say playfully, kicking the door closed behind me. I make for the stairs, and she wiggles again from her place in my arms.

 

“I’ve got those interviews to do at the bakery, Peeta. We can’t afford for you to have another day…”

 

“Just following doctor’s orders,” I say with a smirk, and I lean down to set her gently on the bed. We build a little nest of pillows to keep her ankle elevated and her hips just uneven enough to keep the pressure off her tailbone. I sit next to her, running my thumb over her knuckles as I gaze at her, fully aware just how dippy and dreamlike my face must be.

 

“We’ve got a lot to go over, you know,” she says, sighing heavily as her eyes dart around the room. “We really are going to need to hire more people at the bakery so you don’t have to work six days a week anymore, because I can’t—”

 

“You’re not even out of your first trimester, Katniss. We’ve got time to figure this stuff out.”

 

“Not that much, Peeta!” she squeaks nervously. I press my forehead to hers and take deep breaths over and over again until she follows suit.

 

“It’s okay to be scared,” I tell her.

 

She grumbles in response and leans back against her pillows. She keeps hold of my hand, our thumbs wrestling idly.

 

“Have I… Have I missed some of the signs? Have you been getting morning sickness, or are you grossed out by salmon and want pickles in ice cream—”

 

She laughs. “No, none of that. The only thing that tipped me off that something was up was missing my period. And wanting to bite your head off for almost anything when I didn’t want to…well, you know, jump your bones.”

 

I waggle my eyebrows at her. “I see.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

I lean forward and kiss her, caressing her cheek with my thumb. She sighs softly into my mouth as she grabs the front of my shirt, her mouth forming a tight seal over mine, even as I try to move away a second later. The tip of her tongue traces the seam surreptitiously, and I can’t help the chuckle that rises in my chest. She pulls back, our mouths popping as they disconnect, and she scowls at me.

 

“What? Would you rather I be vomiting every other second?”

 

“No, no, this is very, very okay,” I say with a grin. “I’m just not so sure what your doctor would say about me making love to you when you’re supposed to be resting.”

 

Her eyes darken a shade or two as I’m looking at her, and my tongue flits across my lips to moisten them. It’s been almost two full weeks now, I realize. I wonder briefly what that must be like for someone whose hormones are going crazy in her bloodstream. I raise my eyebrows again in silent question, and the scowl disappears, replaced by a knowing smirk.

 

“I, um…I do still have some apologizing to do, I realize,” I murmur against her mouth. A throaty laugh reverberates against my tongue as I sweep it into her mouth. I pivot onto my side and press my chest against hers, splaying my hand against her belly. I push her backwards entirely on instinct, a habit formed after so many years of being with her, and don’t realize my folly until she whimpers loudly into my mouth. I stiffen and lean back, moving my hand to her hip to bring her back with me, and smile contritely. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay, we just need to, erm…” She’s chewing on the side of her mouth again, but only until I press my lips to the corner she always gnaws on and smooth my hand down her hair.

 

“Lemme help you stand—I have an idea,” I grin, and hop to my feet. She picks her way delicately across the mattress and presses her palms into mine so I can help her balance as she stands on her one un-bandaged foot. She’s not in anything overly formal—just nice jeans and a button-down shirt—but I take care unfastening each and every button, one arm wrapped around her waist at all times until I have to let her go to tug the fabric apart or roll it down her hips. I squat down on my knees in front of her as I slide her panties off her, and I gaze up at her reverently before placing a tender kiss right below her navel. I feel her fingers twine into my hair, partially to help her keep her balance, but also to hold my mouth there. My fingertips trace little patterns along her hip bones as I press my lips against her skin over and over, and she laughs lightly when I smirk up at her before rising to my feet. As soon as her bra is tossed over my shoulder, I help her lay back down before ridding her foot of its shoe and sock. She watches me closely as I peel my own clothes off, and her hand wraps around my erection the second it springs from my pants.

 

“Hey now…I’m the one apologizing to you, remember?” I tease, toeing off my own shoes.

 

She pouts halfheartedly, but only until I grab her by the hands and haul her up to sitting on her knees. I slip into bed next to her, stretching out on my back as I trail my knuckles down her sides. It’s not cold in the room at all, but I leave a patch of goosebumps in my wake, which in turn makes her nipples pebble up. She’s getting the idea, but before she can throw her leg over my hip, I scoot down a couple of inches and cup her ass roughly.

 

“C’mere,” I say, my tongue running along my lips suggestively. She walks on her knees up to my shoulders, and I help her guide her injured foot delicately over my chest to settle on the other side of my chest. My fingernails dig gently into her thighs as she scoots into a better position, peering down at me between her breasts just as my tongue darts out and slides lusciously through her folds. She hisses just once as she finds the right balance of perching above my face so I can work her into a lather and still breathe without putting any weight on her tailbone. Once she finds the right place, I loop my arms around her hips and hold her still, encouraging her silently to let me do all the work. She allows it with a heady moan and a raspy murmur of my name.

 

I’m deliberate, not teasing as I so often like to be when I have my face between her thighs, because I am trying to make amends here. I flick the kernel between her legs with abandon, spurred on by the way her thigh muscles tense and release, the sound of her nails clicking against the headboard as she grabs it to cling to, and even more-so by the incredible gasps and grunts she makes with every single lap. I suck the bud into my mouth, worrying it relentlessly with gentle nips and deliberate licks that, when I hear her sharp and sudden, I can’t help but grin at how pleased I am with myself.

 

I have to hold her steady so she doesn’t sink down against my chest as she comes down. With a gentle nudge of my hands, she releases the headboard and shimmies down my chest, staring at me with hooded eyes as I take my cock in my hand and rub it gently against the still pulsing mound.

 

“Christ, Peeta, stop teasing me,” she keens, trying to position her hips in just the right way to sink down on me fully. I smirk, even as I can feel her warmth envelope my head as I begin to slide inside her, and I watch her toss her head back as soon as I’m buried inside her to the hilt.

 

I dig my fingertips into the narrow curve of her waist and gently coax her down so her chest is flush with mine. I bend my knees and gingerly roll my hips, waiting to hear any objection about this hurting her before I do it again. I guide her rear gently to move along with each upward thrust, and her hands wrap around my neck. She flicks my earlobes gently with her thumbs because she knows it drives me crazy, and her hair falls in a curtain around my face as she leans down and slants her mouth against mine. I can’t work inside her as deeply as I might like to, but the way her walls clench and flutter against me remains nothing short of bliss.

 

“I love you,” I whisper as our lips part for a second when I hasten my pace. Her eyes are clenched shut still, her face contorting in any number of ways, but when her eyelids flutter open, her irises are the darkest grey I may have ever seen.

 

“I love you…oh _God_ ,” she hums, her eyes squeezing shut again just before a guttural moan bubbles up from her throat. I tongue her bottom lip gently to reclaim her mouth, and each subsequent groan and smattering of expletives is merely a vibration shared between our fused lips.

 

She comes again first, but I’m close behind, spurred on from the incredible way she grips me like a vice when she does. She collapses on my chest, panting against the crook of my neck as my hands twine in her hair and my lips graze her damp hairline . I hold her there long after I’ve softened and slipped out of her, and I honestly think she’s fallen asleep for how still she gets.

 

“Oh shit…those goddamn interviews,” she swears just as my own eyelids are drooping.

 

“I’ll take care of them, honey. You need to rest,” I tell her, smoothing her hair and locking my other arm around her waist so she can’t wiggle free.

 

“You’re _still_ running yourself ragged, I can—”

 

I turn us over very, very carefully until we’re perched on our sides, and kiss her firmly. When I pull away and she begins to object again, I kiss her over and over until her mouth is even more swollen and thoroughly kissed than it had been before.

 

“How about this—I’ll go see about interviewing two front-of-house people instead of just one, and I’ll have Finnick come screen them for the Idiot Gene I apparently miss when I hire on my own… And then once I have them trained up front, I’ll see about getting them trained in the kitchen so I can finagle an extra day off a week. Maybe we can even get away for a couple of days…”

 

Her eyebrows raise almost to her brow line, though the look on her face says she doesn’t quite believe me. I place my hand protectively over her belly and kiss her again, long and passionately, until I can almost feel myself swell with the need to take her once more.

 

“You really think you can do that?” she whispers finally, the sides of her lips picking up in a smile.

 

“I really think we’re going to be parents in seven months,” I say with a grin. “And I also think I still have a little bit of making up to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story, as per the request, was loosely inspired by the lyrics of the Tim McGraw song of the same name as the story's title.
> 
> Thanks to the fabulous meggiemellark, sohypothetically, and Court81981 for plotting, pre-reading, and beta-ing help, and to the incomparable Ro Nordmann for the gorgeous beyond gorgeous banner.


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